


remember, we're professionals

by awkwardspiritanimals



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: DRUNK!FIC, F/M, because the world always needs more Mythbusters!AU, more Mythbusters!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:59:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardspiritanimals/pseuds/awkwardspiritanimals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down</p>
<p>or five times Antoine Triplett and the rest of the Mythbusters test their very own alcohol related myths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	remember, we're professionals

He majors in English because he likes reading and he likes writing and his mother wants him to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps, and he wouldn’t really mind spending the rest of his life reading and writing and talking about books. He goes to graduate school because he gets better scholarship offers than he does job offers after he graduates, and he studies modern urban mythology because he likes the idea of hundreds and thousands of people believing amazing and outrageous things in everyday life.

He’s considering just going ahead and getting his PhD when he gets the call from Grant Ward, who he hasn’t talked to since Ward, three years older, had graduated from their high school. He’s apparently working on some TV show that Trip has vaguely heard of, and they want to add a expert to some of the episodes to explain the myths, and John Garrett had said that he thought Trip might be interested in it. Ward invites him in for a tour and an interview, and Trip agrees because he still isn’t getting any job offers that interest him and this one does.

On the flight to San Francisco, he binge watches the whole first season a couple times, looking for the places he could fit in and finding them. His meeting with the main hosts Coulson and May goes well, and he likes both their studio and the city. When they call him a week later to offer him the job, he accepts.

Later, when he looks back on that moment, his apartment already mostly packed and moving truck parked out front, Trip wonders if maybe somebody could have warned him about what he was getting himself into.

_Myth #1: New guy buys the drinks._

"Hey, new guy!"

This is shouted at him across the warehouse. He’s sitting and doing research for the next couple of myths, and he would like to buckle down and get this done tonight so he can present Coulson and May with his sections tomorrow, but it doesn’t seem likely now. Trip sighs when there is continued shouting directed at him.

"I have a name, you know," he says, as the Build Team picks their way toward him. Skye is the one who was yelling at him; Fitzsimmons are trailing behind her, arguing about something while they pull their jackets on.

"I do know. And maybe someday I will even bother learning it. We’re going out, and you have to come, because new guy buys the drinks. Ward!" she calls, and the big man turns from his conversation with one of the tech guys, "Doesn’t new guy buy drinks?" Ward nods and goes back to his conversation like he is used to Skye impatiently requiring his attention in the middle of things.

"Ward bought drinks when we finally convinced him to come out with us after he really started working with us because Fitz’s explosions got out of hand," Skye says.

"That was one time, and that was only mostly my fault," pipes up Fitz without really stopping his argument with Simmons, and both women roll their eyes.

"One time is enough when it comes to explosions," responds Skye, and then continues like the interruption never happened, and he is kind of baffled by the way these people talk, "And Fitz showed up after Simmons and I, so he bought drinks the first time we went out. New guy buys drinks is an established rule here at Mythbusters.”

"Skye, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of work tonight."

"I find it adorable how you think this is an offer and not an order. Come on, new guy, blow off work and come get drunk with us."

"It’ll be fun, Antoine," says Simmons, and that’s when his resolve to finish his research starts to wane. He isn’t quite sure what is going on with Fitz and Simmons, but they don’t seem to be in any sort of actual romantic relationship, and Simmons is gorgeous and blushes when he flirts with her.

"I’ve told you before, call me Trip," he says, with his best smile, and makes a show of looking down at his books and sighing before he closes them with a thump, "I suppose a couple of drinks wouldn’t hurt."

"Excellent! Ward, Trip is going drinking with us, let’s go!" Skye says, and Ward wraps up his conversation and joins them as they make their way to the door. They pile into two taxis, and Trip ends up with Fitzsimmons in the second one; he spends most of the time talking to Simmons, since Fitz has gone oddly quiet against the opposite door. The bar they end up at, The Hub, must be their usual haunt, because a waitress delivers a round of drinks to their table before they’re even settled in, and she raises her eyebrows at them when she sees Trip.

"New guy, he’s buying," says Skye, and the waitress smiles and takes his order.

Because of his continued bafflement with the way the Build Team talks, with and around and through each other, Ward jumping in occasionally from behind his beer, Trip mostly remains silent, just listening. He’s trying to pace himself, because getting drunk when he’s got a tab open seems like a pretty bad idea, but he’s never exactly been able to hold his alcohol all that well; by the time he finishes his second beer, his head is starting to go fuzzy. Ward is up at the bar, speaking with the bartender, an older woman with a red streak in her hair, and Fitz and Simmons have wandered over to the pool table.

Skye had been watching Fitzsimmons for a while, but slides in next to him now, holding what must be her fourth or fifth shockingly pink, fruity-smelling drink. Against his better judgement, Trip starts in on his third beer with a long draw; they had, after all, invited him to come get drunk with them.

"Ok, so here’s the thing you need to know, new guy," says Skye, and he turns to look at her, trying not to visibly sway with the motion as his head spins, "The flirting with Simmons thing, you’re free to do it, but you should understand that Fitz is a vindictive little bastard. He’s not as good as me, but he’s pretty good, and I have been on the receiving end of his revenge a few times and it has not ended well, and I’m his friend."

"I’m not Fitz’s friend?" he asks, and Skye laughs.

"No, not yet. Listen, Fitz is a good guy, but he’s… prickly. With the exception of Simmons, he doesn’t really make friends easily. I mean, it took him a while to warm up to me, and I’m extremely lovable and I only flirted with the girl he had a giant crush on a tiny bit."

"So you’re saying that flirting with a gorgeous, funny, brilliant, unattached girl is a bad idea?"

"I’m saying that Fitz is a fucking genius, like his-IQ-would-make-your-head-spin, PhD-at-twenty genius, and if you want to play with fire, I would recommend, as a friend, that maybe you don’t do it so near a guy that is fond of explosions."

It takes him a few seconds to process that sentence and to form his next question, “You’re my friend?” and he is having to try much too hard not to slur.

Skye grins, “Of course I’m your friend, new guy. Lord knows you need one,” she considers him for a second, and he definitely doesn’t like the look on her face, “You’re totally drunk right now, aren’t you?”

"You’re drunk," he says back, but it definitely took too long for him to slur that and not all of the sounds he made are even in the word drunk and he has somehow almost finished his third beer now without even realizing it.

"That’s right, but I’ve had eight or nine of these," Skye says, indicating her drink, "You’ve had what? Three beers? Fitzsimmons!" she shouts across the bar, heedless of the fact that they’re in a public place, "New guy is totally drunk right now!"

"Hasn’t he only had the three beers?" asks Fitz when the scientists wander back over to the table, abandoning their game.

"That’s what I said, but he’s totally drunk right now. Ward, come over here, new guy is drunk!"

"Didn’t he only drink three beers?"

That’s what we said," answers Fitzsimmons, and then everyone is talking at once, and Trip does what he’s wanted to do since this conversation began; he puts his head down on the table and passes out.

He wakes up in his apartment the next morning, with a hangover and hot coffee sitting next to him. Skye is written across the top in Sharpie, but there’s a message written in pink glitter pen on the side that he can tell is her handwriting even though he’s never seen it before: _New guy buys drinks, veterans buy coffee. Welcome to the team, Trip_.

He laughs, even though it makes his head hurt.

**Status: Confirmed a week later when he gets his credit card bill and realizes that Skye ordered seventeen of those pink drinks after he passed out.**

_Myth #2: Combined or seperately, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons can drink enough to kill a horse._

"I mean, seriously, Trip, do you have some sort of disease? Are you sick? Is that why you’re such a lightweight?" asks Skye and he sighs. He’s being very careful tonight, and they’ve been here for a few hours now and he’s only halfway through his second beer, but Skye will not stop bothering him.

"No, I’m not sick. And you don’t have much room to talk, it’s not like any of you are knocking back drink after drink with no problems."

"Not true. Fitzsimmons can drink anyone under the table, together or separately. It’s sort of incredible."

"Those two?" he says, indicating the scientists, Fitz playing pool against Ward and Simmons giving them both tips, although Fitz is beating Ward pretty handily and doesn’t seem to need them, "They can’t weigh three hundred pounds combined and soaking wet."

"All right, don’t believe me, but it’s true. The first time I went out with them, I nearly killed myself trying to keep up with them, and they walked out of the bar looking stone cold sober."

“I absolutely refuse to believe this until I see it,” he says, and Skye shrugs before yelling at Fitzsimmons to come back to the table.

"Drink these two beers," she says when they arrive, Ward trailing after them, pushing the bottles she’d gotten from the waitress towards the two scientists. Fitz obeys with a shrug, but Simmons hesitates.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Trip doubts me when I tell him that you and Fitz can drink enough to kill a horse. He demands proof, since he is apparently a great believer in the scientific method all of the sudden."

"It’s true," Ward inserts from his spot in the corner of the booth, "They’re heavyweights."

"There is no way I’m going to believe that until I see it with my own eyes," he says, because there is no way, _no way,_ that tiny little Fitz and Simmons can drink that much.

"Well, then, in the name of science and everything, this calls for shots. And it seems like a shame to waste perfectly good shots on two people who won’t even be getting drunk, so I propose that we join them," Skye says, and ten minutes later, Trip is three shots in, everything is bright and fuzzy around the edges and the middle and everywhere in between; Fitz is three shots ahead of him and Simmons is two, and they’re calmly discussing something to do with particle physics that honestly he doesn’t think he could understand if he were stone cold sober.

"Oh my god," he says, turning to Skye, who seems to be fascinated by the side of Ward’s head, "What is happening right now?"

"Right? I told you. I told you. They’re ridiculous. They’re magic. Now come here, and look at how huge Ward’s ear is. It’s enormous," she says, and Fitz knocks back a shot and rolls his eyes.

"Come on, Ward, I’ll play you in pool and explain to you exactly why I’m beating you so badly."

"That actually sounds better than what is happening right now. Bring the shots," says Ward, and Fitz grabs the tray, and then hesitates before leaning in to press a sloppy kiss against Simmons’ cheek with a goofy smile. Simmons blushes, and Trip wonders through the haziness in his brain when he started finding the two of them so adorable. He leans close to Skye and has to concentrate very hard to keep his voice at the appropriate level for a whisper.

"Explain to me why those two are not, you know, a thing?" he asks, nodding at Fitz, who is holding true to his word and explaining to Ward what he’s doing wrong, and Simmons, who is drinking a beer and trying to be subtle about the fact that she’s staring at Fitz’s ass every time he goes to take a shot.

"Because Fitz is chicken and Simmons assumes that because Fitz hasn’t said anything, he’s not interested in her. And honestly, they really do like being best friends. Like, they’re the most adorable best friends of all time."

"It’s true. Also, they can drink so much."

"I told you. I told you, new guy. Enough to kill a horse."

“You were right.”

“I’m going to need that in writing. _Antoine Triplett officially admits that Skye is right_. And I’m going to put a little tally mark on it every time you admit that to me.”

“That is going to be one lonely tally mark.”

“Shut the fuck up and do some more shots with me, you embarrassing lightweight.”

**Status: Plausible, but unconfirmed because no one on the team was willing to attempt to actually kill a horse.**

_Myth #3: The couch in Fitz, Simmons and Skye’s apartment is more comfortable than Trip’s bed_.

Trip wakes up disoriented, and it takes him a few seconds to figure out that he’s in the Build Team’s living room, on their couch with a blanket pulled up to his chin and the smell of bacon reaching him. There’s a glass of water and two Advil sitting on the coffee table, and while his head hurts, he certainly doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode. He sits up to see Fitzsimmons in the kitchen, apparently making breakfast, or at least Simmons is. Fitz seems to be sitting at the counter with his hands clasped.

"What the hell is happening right now?" he asks, because this entire situation is kind of baffling.

"Oh, good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, and Fitz is sitting there with his hands where I can see them so that nothing blows up because of his mere presence."

"Ok, but how many penises do I have drawn on my face right now?"

“What?” asks Simmons, and Fitz looks at him over his shoulder like he’s nuts.

“While I was drunk, what did you guys draw on my face?”

“Err, we didn’t draw anything on your face.”

“Ok. And you obviously didn’t leave me naked in a field somewhere.”

“No.”

“Ok. Embarrassing videos of me on your phone?”

“No.”

“Well, Skye might have some,” says Fitz, “But she was pretty drunk herself, so they might end up being videos of the wall behind you while you were doing something embarrassing, or videos of her drunk laughing at you.”

“So to be clear, you guys did what last night after I blacked out?”

“We made sure you didn’t do anything too stupid, and then we made you drink two glasses of water,” says Simmons, draining grease from the bacon.

“And we thought that if we left you at your apartment you might hurt yourself, and you were being kind of a pain, so we challenged you to do an experiment to see if our couch was more comfortable than your bed. You’re very gullible when drunk, and also apparently very inclined toward attempting scientific experiments,” adds Fitz.

“Ok. Well, I’m not quite sure how to react in this situation.”

“Did you take the Advil we left out for you?” asks Simmons, and she points back at the coffee table when he shakes his head, “That’s step one. Step two is to eat breakfast with us.”

“Cool. Where are Skye and Ward anyway? I seem to have a blurry memory of Ward also being very drunk.

“They’re in Skye’s room,” Simmons answers, and Trip at least manages to avoid spraying water all over Fitz’s back in surprise.

“Not like that. Or at least, they weren’t like that when we put them in there last night. And Simmons won’t even let me leave the door open to see Skye’s face when she wakes up, even though…” Fitz says, and then trails off without finishing his sentence.

"Even though what?" asks Simmons, and Trip grins at Fitz behind her back, because he assumes that the rest of the sentence was something along the lines of _if it was Simmons and me, she would tease me for weeks about it_.

"Nothing. Breakfast ready?" he says, not willing to meet Simmons’ eyes, flipping Trip off when Simmons turns back to the stove.

"Almost," she says, and whatever else she might have said is lost when Skye comes crashing out of her room.

"Why is there a shirtless Ward in my bed?"

"We figured that was as good a place to put him as any," Fitz says with a smirk.

"And why is he shirtless?"

"Around your seventh or eighth drink, you demanded that all the guys take off their shirts. Ward and Trip agreed that this was a great idea, Fitz not so much," says Simmons, and Fitz pouts at the counter.

"Well excuse me if I didn’t feel like getting half naked with the two Adonises that I work with," he says, and Simmons slides a plate of food in front of him.

“Oh, you’re not that bad. You’ve got nice shoulders,” she says, and then it’s her turn to blush. Skye amazingly lets the comment slide in her quest for information.

"Why is he still shirtless?"

"He passed out before we could convince him to put it back on, and he’s very heavy."

"Trip wants to know if you’ve got any embarrassing videos of him on your phone," says Simmons, setting plates of food in front of Skye and Trip before settling down with her own breakfast next to Fitz.

"Let’s see. There’s a couple of good pictures of Trip and Ward posing shirtless, but no new videos. Which is a bummer, because from what I remember, you were pretty hilarious."

"Like, singing bad karaoke hilarious or doing dangerous things hilarious?"

"Just kind of happy drunk hilarious. You might have been hilarious mostly because I was also pretty happy drunk. Did Fitzsimmons convince you to do some sort of science experiment?"

"Yeah, they apparently convinced me to sleep over by telling me that they needed to know if the couch was more comfortable than my own bed."

"Was it?" asks Fitz, who has amazingly managed to finish off his own plate already and is attempting to pick off of Simmons’.

"I don’t really know. I mean, I don’t feel like I slept on a rock last night, but I don’t necessarily feel better than if I’d slept in my own bed."

"Results inconclusive then. Here," he says, pushing a pen and a pad of paper with a shopping list in Simmons’ neat handwriting next to something written in Fitz’s unintelligible scrawl towards Trip.

"What’s this for?"

Fitzsimmons answers in unison: “It’s only science if you write it down.”

**Status: Plausible, unconfirmed because the test subject was drunk out of his mind at the time of testing. See attached embarrassing photos of him posing shirtless with coworker and friend Grant Ward.**

_Myth #4: There are very few people capable of out-drinking Fitz and Simmons separately, but Melinda May can out-drink them combined._

Trip is extraordinarily glad he’s only had one beer, because he is witnessing what has to be one of the great moments in human history: Melinda May and Fitzsimmons, sitting across from each other, ten shots into a drinking contest that would probably kill any normal human. In the years he’s been with the show, he’s never seen any of them drunk, and he’s looking forward to whichever one of them cracks first.

Since the first tray of shots was delivered to the table, Fitz has ceased his near constant stream of trash talk only to throw back each shot.

"Beginning to feel it, May?" he asks with a smirk as he neatly arranges his thirteenth empty glass in front of him.

"I’d be less worried about me and more worried about your partner," May responds, nodding at Simmons, who is concentrating very hard on raising her glass to her mouth.

"I’m fine," she says, but it’s not very convincing, since she’s having to lean against Fitz to keep from swaying.

"Update!" Skye yells at fifteen shots from her spot across the bar where she’s playing a rather one-sided game of darts with Ward.

"Fitz and May are going strong, but Simmons is fading down the stretch," he shouts back, because at some point Skye’s lack of appropriate volume control became his problem as well.

"She’s not fading, she’s stronger than ever," Fitz says defensively, and Simmons shakes her head and looks like she immediately regrets it.

"No, not stronger, definitely fading. Fitz, please make the world stop spinning," she says, but she knocks back shots sixteen and seventeen before she throws her hands up, leaning over on the bench to rest her head on Fitz’s thigh.

"Willing to continue without your partner, Dr. Fitz?" May asks, eyebrows raised as she takes drink number eighteen. Fitz matches her before replying.

"She’s still here for moral support."

"It is honestly adorable how you think that might help."

"Let’s just drink," Fitz says, shot number nineteen in hand. And drink they do, and to his credit, Fitz keeps drinking, even as the motion of lifting the shot to his mouth slows and he spends the time between drinks staring intensely at the tabletop in front of him. For her part, May looks completely relaxed, even as they pass the 25-shots mark. Eventually Skye grows bored of Ward trying to teach her to play darts, and she wanders over to sit by Trip, providing a running commentary on contest.

"The challenger Leopold Fitz knocks back shot number twenty-seven, but he’s obviously struggling."

"Why am I the challenger?" Fitz slurs, attempting to glare at Skye even though he is clearly seeing at least three of her.

"Because May is obviously kicking the shit out of you right now," Trip says, and Fitz’s out of focus glaring switches to his general direction. Three shots later, he’s beckoning him closer, leaning heavily on the table with one hand.

"Trip, Trip, my friend, I would normally ask Jemma, but she’s kind of out of it right now. Please explain alcohol poisoning to me, because I think I might have it."

"Fitz, I think it’s time to throw in the towel. It’s not worth it."

"I can’t just quit," Fitz says, looking at Trip like he’d suggested he streak through the bar.

"You can, and you should. I really don’t want you to die."

"Ok, ok," Fitz finally relents, his accent thicker than Trip has ever heard it, "I give up."

"I’ll need that in writing," says May, pulling a napkin towards her and writing _Fitzsimmons lost the drinking match_ and the date, “Sign it.”

Fitz manages to take the pen from May on the third try, and reluctantly scribbles something onto the napkin.

"That doesn’t even look like your name," Trip says, laughing.

"I can’t remember how to spell it. Please don’t make me try to read anything again," Fitz says, dropping his head onto his arms on the table.

"I’m not worried about it. I’m going to go beat Ward at darts," May said, knocking back a final shot, slipping the napkin into her pocket and standing without even the slightest hint of sway.

"Why do I get the feeling that she is one hundred percent serious?" Trip asks, watching her walk away.

"Because she totally is," answers Skye, downing Fitz’s unfinished shot.

"That’s ridiculous, she had like twenty- oh, no you don’t, you two. You don’t get to sneak off and get handsy with each other while I’m the designated caretaker," he says, catching a hold on Fitz’s collar as the two of them try to sneak- stumble, really- out of the booth, giggling and holding hands, Simmons nuzzling against Fitz’s neck.

"Trip," whines Simmons, somehow managing to stretch the four letter name out for fifteen seconds.

"Yeah, no, time to get you home, I think. Skye, go get Ward, we might need his help. Also, it will be embarrassing for him to get beat by May, who just out-drank our ranking heavyweights."

Between the three of them, they manage to get Fitz and Simmons bundled into a cab, Trip ducking in to sit between them. They hold hands across his lap, and both of them fall asleep against his shoulders, and he only finds it a little awkward, and this is what four years of working with these people can do to a man. When they pull up in front of the apartment building, Ward and Skye laugh at the scene for a while before Ward reaches into lift Simmons and Skye pays the driver.

"How come you get to carry Simmons?" Trip asks.

"Because I didn’t flirt with her when I first showed up. I’ve never seen Fitz drunk, but I don’t think you want to fight him," Ward answers.

"Fair," he says, pulling Fitz out of the cab, "Holy shit, he weighs like twelve and a half pounds. How does he possibly weigh so little when he eats so much?"

"Please do not talk to me about Fitz’s metabolism right now, it will only upset me," says Skye, pressing the button for the elevator.

Once Ward and Trip have deposited them on their bed, Fitz and Simmons immediately gravitate toward each other, tangling together even though neither of them appears to actually wake up.

"They’re really kind of grossly adorable," Skye says, but she’s smiling.

"Yeah," Trip says, then turns to her with a smile, "So, since I had to remain sober to bear witness to one of the greatest drinking contests in human history, can I get drunk on your couch?"

"Absolutely."

**Status: Confirmed, despite the fact that it has only been tested once. Testing it again would probably result in Fitz dying, since there’s no way he could be convinced to admit defeat again.**

_Myth #5: Drinking on the beach is better than drinking anywhere else._

"And then the cement truck was just _gone_ ,” Ward says, making a gesture that was probably supposed to indicate an explosion.

"I know, Ward, I was there," responds Fitz, rolling his eyes.

"Trip wasn’t though," Ward responds, pointing at the other man like it’s all the justification he needs, undeterred in his wide-eyed, drunken retelling of the story.

“I’ve seen the episode several times,” Trip says, and he’s lost track of how many beers he’s had as they’ve wandered down the beach.

"It’s not the same as seeing it in person. Fitz, explain to him that it’s not the same as seeing it in person," Ward says, and he reaches out to give Fitz what is probably supposed to be a friendly shove. In his drunken enthusiasm though, he underestimates his own strength and sends the smaller man sprawling into the shallow water they’re walking along.

Fitz emerges spluttering and cursing, and he glares at them all laughing, “It’s not funny.”

"It is funny in like seventeen different distinct and unique ways," says Skye, and Trip is about to comment himself when he notices Fitz’s beer bottle, dropped during his fall, bobbing away in the moonlight. Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, he’s splashing out after it, managing to grab it on his third try; he turns back with a grin to find the others staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"We can’t litter," he says, completely serious, "We only get one earth."

"That is so true," says Skye, and if he was sober, he would probably be more worried about the look on her face as she says it. As it is, he’s caught off guard when she suddenly races towards him full speed, wrapping her arms around his waist and tackling him into the water. He comes up laughing, the beer bottle clenched in one hand and his other arm wrapped around Skye, who is laughing even harder than he is. Ward comes splashing out towards them and then stops, looking vaguely confused.

"What are you doing?" Trip asks, grinning, because he’s drunk and happy and wet, and he thinks that maybe that last one should bother him but it doesn’t.

"I think I was coming to save you? Or Fitz? I was coming to save someone, I think," he says, and then Skye shrugs off Trip’s arm to barrel into Ward.

"Simmons," she yells when the two of them surface again, "Get in here. It’s fun, and also your boyfriend is being cranky and that’s no fun. Come kiss him and make him less of a grumpy pants."

"Jemma Simmons, don’t you dare," says Fitz, but she’s smiling and Trip knows Fitz is in trouble and he knows Fitz knows it too. He manages to catch Simmons’ initial leap into his arms, but she kisses him hard and he overbalances, crashing into the water for the second time. This time when he emerges though, he’s smiling, arms around Simmons, and it must be mind-blowingly awesome to have someone look at you like Fitzsimmons look at each other.

He’s going to find someone who looks at him like that someday, and it’s going to be awesome. And these are the people he’s going to tell about it; the realization of that stops him in his tracks. Some time in the past six and a half years, these people have become _his people_.

These are the people he’s going to tell about the best first date in history, and who he has to hope won’t embarrass him when he introduces them, and who he’s going to ask for advice when he proposes, and _holy shit_ , these are the people who he is going to ask about baby names and he is totally going to end up with kids named Sprocket and Allyssein, and that thought isn’t freaking him out as much as he thinks it should.

"You have the dopiest fucking grin on your face right now, Trip," Skye says, and his smile only grows as he turns to look at her.

"It’s just that I love you guys," he says, and he’s really drunk and he really means that.

"Ew, guys, Trip is at the sappy drunk stage," she says.

"It’s Fitzsimmons’ fault. They’re being gooey," he says in his own defense.

"We are not gooey," says Fitz, taking a break from staring into Simmons’ eyes.

"You are the most gooey. The gooiest. I need another beer to deal with the gooiness," Skye says.

"Be nice to the tiny smalls," says Ward, stumbling toward the shore.

"I need four more beers," says Fitz, pulling Simmons out of the water.

"I think we are all generally agreed that we need more beer," says Skye. "Wait!" Trip says, and then because he is happy and drunk and he loves these people, _his people_ , he leans down and uses the beer bottle he’s still holding to write _Mythbusters Forever_ in the sand.

"Yeah, we definitely need more beer," says Skye after a moment, and they laugh and head back towards their cooler.

**Status: Currently being tested.**

**Author's Note:**

> This is in the same universe as 'don't try this at home.'
> 
> Disclaimer: I have never in my life had a drink, much less been drunk. I felt this is important information for you to know when judging the quality of this fic.


End file.
